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Once the monster had fallen - and Faram, that had taken way too long, had cost them all way too much, but he’d think of that later, when he was alone and clean and the streets weren’t littered with the dead - he took a deep breath. He could see Aspel moving in the direction of where Ari was. And then the singing stopped. Drake turned. Ari was on the ground, curled into herself, her mandolin clutched to her as though it was the only thing anchoring her. He took a step forward, and then another, until he was at her side, kneeling to the ground and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. As if holding her would make it better. It wouldn’t, he knew; he couldn’t imagine having to watch them die. Not now, not ever. (And he had died, remembered that vividly. Another thing to think of later.) He looked up at Aspel, whose expression he couldn’t read. Blood was streaked across her face, and her armor was dented, but she was standing and whole and alive, just like him. A small, grateful smile was given to the sentinel, one that said I’m glad you’re alive. Not okay - he wasn’t sure either of them were - but alive. And he wanted to reach for her, but that meant letting go of the sobbing bard in his arms, and while he liked Aspel, cared about her a great deal - more than he’d realized until the cloak of death had covered them - even loved her a little, Ari was small and broken in his arms. In that moment, between the standing sentinel and the broken bard, the choice of who to hold onto was obvious. “Shh,” he said, breaking eye contact with Aspel and whispering into Ari’s hair. “It’s okay, honey. We’re right here. We’re fine.” Maybe not fine, but. “Yes.” The response was simple, confirmatory, and the volume of her voice had dipped lower, eyes rolling over Ari, trying to figure out what had happened, what she might need to do. Watching the other woman fold in on herself, to deconstruct nearly before her eyes, it brought on a pained confusion welling up inside of her chest, one she couldn’t comprehend or decode to save her life (ha) in this moment, and wasn’t sure if she really might ever be able to. The thought was shucked aside, this wasn’t the time for it anyway. Then Drake was there, kneeling down, wrapping his around the bard - Aspel’s jaw tightened, her face remaining otherwise expressionless -, and attempting to comfort her, whispering calming words. Somehow, the smile he gave her (which she simply gave a restrained nod in response to), the comfort he attempted to offer Ari, the situation around them, it all added to making her feel that much more wrong. Nothing felt okay, or right, or even remotely comfortable, and she didn’t know how to deal with any of it. “Take her somewhere safe.” The words came out softer than expected, a surprise to herself even. An urge to walk away, to completely disengage and throw herself back into the fight, the war breaking out of every street would be easier, she knew it. Then at least, she would be at home, comfortable…. She wouldn’t have to think or feel - out of place, unwelcome, an intruder, hurt, confused, torn - anymore. Not until the fights were done. However, something inside of her remained conflicted enough - struggled with what she was feeling, thinking, wanting to do - that shifting her gauntlets were removed, tucked under the belt that hung around her waist to hold the hammer in place, and she leaned down, bringing up both hands to hold Ari’s face briefly, thumbs stroking over the bard’s cheek to wipe away tears before placing a soft kiss against the other woman’s forehead before pulling away. Shifting, one hand came up to cup Drake’s cheek, a thumb giving one solid stroke before a kiss was placed against his forehead as well, and she moved to pull away, a glance cast down one of the streets, and a hand falling down to begin putting her gauntlets back on. |